Warm
by perverse-idyll
Summary: Severus still suffers the after-effects of Nagini's venom, especially in winter. Harry knows just how to warm him up.


**A/N:** Written for a friend and therefore not my usual fare. Not safe for work. Mature content, and that's about all there is to it.

~~#~~

"Well, that was more fun than a barrel of Boggarts."

Harry bumped the front door shut with the snow-caked heel of his dress shoe and peeled off his gloves, watching Severus prop his cane in a corner and continue stiffly down the hall. He'd rather hoped that once they got home Severus would grab his arse and hump him up against a wall, but he could tell from how he walked that the winter freeze between the Ministry ball and their own doorstep had triggered muscle spasms, the ghost of Nagini's venom still flaring and fading in Severus' body, even several years later.

He set some candles alight and unwound his scarf. "I don't know about you, but I'm half-sozzled from all that infernal back-patting. Three solid hours spent raising cups in season's greetings, Merlin's balls."

He didn't really expect an answer, and when he got what he expected, he merely stamped his feet to restore circulation and ruffled the wet chill of snow from his hair.

Outside, the rising and falling whistle of the wind shrieked past the corners of the house, as desolate as Dementors circling the outer walls.

A welcome swirl of conjured warmth settled suddenly upon Harry, banishing the memories stirred by the wind's moan. Grateful, he glanced up to find Severus tucking his wand away and assessing him from the other end of the hall. In his eyes was the saturnine, heavy-lidded sensuality that sometimes came over him when he'd been drinking, a disturbing effect much like holding a flickering candle under the chin so that all the shadows ran up instead of down. A faint, rapacious smile rippled behind those shadows. Harry's cock jumped at the answering stab of heat.

"Pity you were bored," Severus said at last, supporting his weight against the doorframe that led to the unlit back passageway. "I, on the other hand, enjoyed myself immensely."

"Oh, believe me, I enjoyed you enjoying yourself." Keeping a hopeful eye on that smile, Harry tossed his scarf over the banister railing and strolled closer. "Surprised we weren't ousted for being a public nuisance, to be honest. Things got a bit – " He palmed his crotch for emphasis. "Warm."

"Hmm." Severus' lids drooped, and he stood absorbed for a moment watching Harry stroke himself, only to turn abruptly away like the cock-teasing git he was. "Yes. Now that you mention it, I could stand to be warmer."

Harry gave his crotch a regretful pat and didn't say a word about his frustrations or his concern that Severus' symptoms were acting up.

Still, when Severus paused on the threshold, it occurred to him that another, slower tease was underway. Severus' leather-gloved hand still bracketed the door frame; the same hand that had sneaked inside Harry's robes earlier and _warmly_ , mercilessly explored the seat of his trousers. It had turned an endless parade of Ministerial puffery into a session of private torture. Needless to say, Harry couldn't remember a single word of any speech made that night, but he had perfect recall of Severus' index finger skimming furtively up and down the seam between his arse cheeks and caressing the indentation above his hole.

"Going for a bath?" he called, doing his best to sound casual. Severus tended to be suspicious of kindness shown, especially toward his post-Nagini weakness. He was quite capable of acting beastly and ruining the evening by accusing Harry of being too solicitous.

Its former silkiness serrated by internal scarring, Severus' voice echoed down the hallway. "I expect it will take me about twenty minutes to soak the ice out of my bones. In the meanwhile, I suggest you build up the fire and put a cauldron of spiced wine on to simmer. Once I join you," he still stood with his back to Harry, but a thin corner of cheekbone and a gold-shadowed eye made a sharp turn into the gap between black hair and black scarf, "I intend to finish what the Ministry started. You deserve a full sozzling tonight, Potter."

A vein in Harry's cock twitched. It was maddening. "I don't think you can use 'sozzling' that way," he said, just to be a berk.

"I'll use words any way I please." Severus never seemed to understand that cutting remarks weren't a normal part of conversation, or more likely, he just didn't care. So verbal flirting was always a bit hit-or-miss. But he could make Harry hard just by staring at him a certain way, so it all evened out. "However, if you want to sober up and spend the rest of the evening unsullied, your loss."

The long, leather-clad fingers released the doorframe, and there was a determined tread up the back staircase as Severus vanished in the direction of the first-floor bath. Smiling, Harry peeled out of his own damp robes and set about doing as he'd been told.

The fire was popping out exuberant sparks, blazing and billowing like dragon's breath by the time Severus re-emerged from the dark hall and entered the drawing room. Wet hair smeared its way down his neck and half-veiled his face, a few lank strands just beginning to straggle outward in the erratic puffs of heat.

"Warm enough for you?" Harry said from his seat on the floor.

Severus pushed his hair back, and his expression was everything Harry had hoped for. "I think we've already covered that, Potter. Your job is to get me hot."

"And what's _your_ job, eh? Sounds like I'm the one doing all the work."

"Get me sweaty and relaxed," Severus murmured with the half-smile, half-sneer that made Harry's cock ache for it, "and you'll bloody well find out."

Stripped down to his vest and a worn-soft pair of joggers, Harry lounged back against the pillows he'd heaped atop the rug and watched him. Early in their relationship, he'd bribed Severus out of his penchant for ugly nightshirts by giving him presents, and was rewarded with seeing him arrive fresh from the bath wearing a quilted dressing gown and a pair of green flannel pyjama bottoms. His feet were bare, the belt of the gown dangling loose. In the restless, swarming golden light, his pale chest gave off a shimmery impression, as if he were still dripping wet and hadn't bothered to towel off.

God. Harry wanted to lick him. He loved the taste and fragrance of clean skin. Even more than that, he loved licking the dirty places still tender and glowing from being soaped in hot water, damp from the tub and smelling only faintly musky. He loved burying his face in freshly washed arses and armpits, in the thin-skinned crease beneath a brace of heavy bollocks.

Which Severus bloody well knew. But he only studied the fire, the pewter goblets steaming with mulled wine, and the piled-up arrangement of thick bedding before lowering himself to the floor without comment. As he shrugged to get his shoulders comfortable against the sofa's edge, his dressing gown pouched open and spread to either side, completely baring his narrow chest.

Harry adjusted his glasses and brushed a prickle of sweat off his hairline. Severus' nipples had been scrubbed, exposed to the cold hallway and ushered back into the draughty heat, and they were standing up in a way impossible to ignore. Not that Harry wanted to. What he _wanted_ was to reach out and give them a sharp pinch. Or a good sucking. Yeah, sucking, that was the ticket.

He waited for Severus to meet his eyes, but either their usual erotic rapport was out of joint or Severus was deliberately affecting not to notice.

Picking up his drink, Harry grumbled, "Cheers," and took a sip. Alcoholic fumes wafted up his nose, and the mouthful of wine smoking its way down his gullet scorched his breath with nutmeg and burgundy. Blowing out to cool his tongue, he got distracted again by the sight of those puckered nipples, not to mention the almost sculptural effect of naked collarbones in the constantly weaving, sunset-coloured light, or how the drier Severus' hair got, the more it revealed faint strands of silver like quartz in coal, and – damn it, the bastard had spent the entire Ministry ball teasing the fuck out of him, and now Harry was tipsy and horny and he wanted nothing more than to turn Severus over on his stomach, this very second, and do him.

It didn't help that even when sitting and basking Severus could look so bloody aloof. The only light in the room ebbed and flowed through the fire screen onto his face, the silhouettes of snapping flames licking its hawkish lines, taunting Harry with his desire to do the same.

He accepted the goblet Harry handed him and tasted it slowly, running his tongue over his lips in a meditative way, his hooded eyes fastened upon the red-hot centre of the burning logs. One pyjama cuff rode up as he stretched his feet to the fire, and the black hairs on his exposed shin glittered.

"Potter," he broke the silence at last. And then nothing.

Right. Two could play that game. "Snape."

"I've been thinking all evening," Severus pursued in his harsh, precise whisper, "about your arse."

Harry swallowed a bit too quickly, and the scalding wine made his eyes water. "Funny thing, that. I've been thinking all evening about your fingers." He cleared his throat. "Quite a coincidence, eh?"

Severus didn't reply at first, but flames caught the lurking shadows of something predatory flickering around his mouth. He turned his head slowly and regarded Harry with the same rapt, feline concentration he'd bent upon the fire. The heat reflected in his eyes brushed over Harry's body as slyly as his hands had earlier insinuated themselves all up and down the seat of his trousers.

"Bring it over here."

It wasn't Harry's style to play hard to get, but sometimes Severus deserved to work for it. "Sorry, what?" he said, as if he hadn't really been listening.

Severus raised one long, thin hand, head tilted as he assessed the state of play. "Your arse," he said slowly. "My fingers. Some unfinished business between them." His gaze sharpened when Harry didn't answer the summons. "Now that I'm no longer homicidally bored by yapping civil servants or in imminent danger of freezing my bollocks off, it's time they renewed their acquaintance."

Harry set his drink on the hearth with a triumphant clink. "My arse thinks that's a bloody brilliant idea."

"Then get off it and lie down across my lap."

Joggers wrestled halfway to his ankles, Harry was briefly tempted to wind Severus up further with a taste of delayed gratification, but never mind. Arse play was on the agenda, and it wasn't worth risking that for a game that consisted of testing each other's tempers. That was more Severus' style.

Severus was resting his head back against the sofa cushion, watching as he kicked his pants off, then removed his glasses and levitated them onto the mantelpiece. A roughly cleared throat urged him to stop mousing about, so he rose onto his knees, naked from the waist down, flaunting the stiffy between his legs. Severus already had a hand down his pyjamas, the soft fabric of his fly rippling as he stroked himself. As Harry stared, he brought his hand back out and passed his fingers beneath his nose, inhaling along their length like a connoisseur of subtle fragrances. Then he dipped three fingers inside his goblet.

Sodding hell. Harry scooped up his cock and held onto it, halfway afraid it might suddenly go off.

Still watching him, Severus stirred the wine clockwise. He lifted his dripping fingers and slowly engulfed each in turn, holding them in his mouth, careless of the dark drops that fell and trickled down his chest.

Harry's heart was pounding hard. "Oh hey, hang on." He clambered bare-arsed over the blankets. "Here. Let me help you with that."

And then he was draped across that bony, sallow body, his open mouth on Severus' skin, warm and humid from his soak, lapping at the dribbles of wine and worrying urgently at a nipple, his touch shaky with lust. A brusque hand slid through his hair and bunched it in a knot, tugging his head up. Then Severus was kissing him with tongue and teeth, sucking fiercely, taking control. Harry struggled to sit up, but Severus held him where he was and pulled away.

"Lie down, Potter," he whispered, letting go of his hair to cup his arse instead, then bending forward, forcing himself back into the wet heat of Harry's mouth.

Harry allowed the deft hands to spread him out and arrange him, with special attention paid to the positioning of his legs and bum. He found himself draped arse-up across Severus' thighs, a couple of pillows stuffed under his head and chest for support. The heat of the fire buffeted his bare flanks, breezing over his skin, followed by the slow glide of strong hands across his bottom. The hands shaped and squeezed, exploring the firm flesh, and Harry stifled a groan. Oh God, yes. A muscle rub might be even better than sex.

He changed his mind about that the second Severus pushed his cheeks apart and started circling and niggling at his hole. Harry thrust his arse up, but the fingertip continued without pause along his cleft, tickling the unshaven hairs and poking at the wrinkles, sweeping back and forth over the most sensitive spot, light and unsatisfying as a feather.

Harry angled his legs wider so he could arch his back, making it obscenely obvious what he wanted.

Fingers dimpling the soft skin of his crease, Severus murmured, "You do like exposing yourself, don't you, Potter? To think I almost missed the chance of seeing you like this. It very nearly compensates for years of putting up with your cheek. Your _other_ cheek. However… "

A sharp cleansing spell whisked through him, and Harry yelped and jerked his bum out of Severus' grasp. "Arsehole," he said, glaring over his shoulder and squeezing his sphincter shut. "Warn a bloke, for fuck's sake."

Severus stared back at him with hot, hot eyes, and Harry huffed into the pillow and cautiously resumed his position. Two blunt-nailed fingers started rubbing the small twitchy muscle at the centre of his arse, sparking the nerves and making foreplay of Severus' calculated malice. Then the forefinger was back, slick and gooey, radiantly warm against his closed pucker.

"Under the circumstances, I rather think _you_ are the arsehole," Severus said under his breath, "whereas I am the one who does _this_ ," and with careless ease, he inserted a slender finger into Harry's flinching hole, spearing the fleshy bud and impaling him with a single swift jab.

Gasping, Harry splayed himself, his cock jerking with the sudden stab of lust. Severus knuckled down, drilling as far as he could before sliding his finger out and driving it back in. "Fuck," was the only word that even began to express how good that felt, and Harry swore in short bursts as the long finger pumped in and out, greasy and sinuous and quick. Sod it, it wasn't enough, and he hoisted his hips, rising to meet each thrust. He wanted to be stretched until he almost couldn't stand it, stretched open and stuffed, comfort levels be damned.

Severus slowed down then, utter bastard that he was, wiggling his embedded finger along the hot, silky skin of Harry's insides. Overcome, Harry thrashed against his legs, his cock bouncing and jabbing between Severus' cotton-clad thighs.

"What a shameless display, Mr. Potter." Severus' voice had dropped to a whisper, the way it used to in class when he was either seriously pissed off or dangerously pleased. "I ought to throw you across my lap and stick my hand up your arse more often."

"God, yes," Harry wheezed as two fingertips dug into him, stretching him gloriously, then persisted with delicious force to his very core, straining downward almost painfully as his arse throbbed around them. Severus had spelled homemade lube onto his fingers – probably from a flask in his bathrobe pocket – and as he penetrated Harry, reaming him with sticky, quickening strokes, the visceral rhythm set off a series of contractions in the sensitive, slickly lined membrane of Harry's arse.

Gasping and beginning to run with sweat, he rocked back and forth, hoarse from the sheer intensity of it. The feel of those fingers spitting him, swivelling inside him, overpowered his senses. He could hear the spooky sounds of the night wind quarrelling down the chimney and fluttering the fire, the crack of flames hitting a resin pocket, could smell the sweet, wintry smoke of burning pine hanging in the air. The room wavered with orange-tinted shadows and heat, and his pillow was fever-damp, the blankets wadded in his fists.

But all that really mattered were the fingers pistoning in and out, in-out, in-out, striking him, blunt and hard, building up the unbearable pleasure, a swelling pressure in his balls, along with a speechless, powerless desire to hang suspended on that edge indefinitely, grunting and clenching in a voluptuous daze, completely at Severus' mercy.

They withdrew then, those amazing fingers, slowly and wetly from where they belonged. Harry whimpered in protest, pulled out of his trance, nerves seizing up in an unfinished spasm. Damn it, why had Severus stopped? Too dazed to think clearly, he lay limp, communing with his thudding arse and feeling Severus shift beneath him, rigid cock jutting up under the soft restraint of his pyjama fly.

Harry's own cock was trapped against Severus' leg, leaking onto the fabric. The wanker was going to have a big wet spot there, and it would serve him right.

A humid whiff of semen bypassed his brain and shot straight to his balls, and Harry stopped sulking. He turned his head toward the source and inhaled the intimate stink, mouthwatering and salt-marshy in equal measure.

A hand came up then and smoothed the sodden fringe from his eyes. Grateful, he raised his head. The petting hand drifted down his back to his tailbone, sliding over to grab his left arse cheek and pull it to one side. Startled, Harry stretched like a cat and slung one arm around Severus' waist, his entire body whining for sex.

"Yes. Good. Open up for me, Harry," Severus said softly, and thank Merlin, it wasn't over, the lovely fingers were back, they were back, and this time there were three of them. Slippery and sure, they plucked and massaged his hole, then bore down.

Harry welcomed the intrusion, grovelling as the combined girth of all three fingers wedged inside him, plugging him tight. They twisted slowly back and forth as Severus indulged himself, wringing guttural cries out of him with each helpless clench of his arse.

Patiently, with little pushes and pulses, the fingers worked the widening ring of flesh before sinking firmly down, brooking no resistance, filling and stretching Harry until they were buried full-length in his crack. Then Severus began moving, pulling away from the reflexive suck of moist tissue before sheathing his fingers harder and harder in Harry's quivering hole.

Harry got his wobbly knees under him and bowed his back, inviting the slick hand to breach him. After toying with him for a while, sliding sensuously along the lining of his arse, Severus abruptly let him have it. Harry cried out as the fingers fucked him, rapid and brutal, slamming in and twisting out with almost demented purpose.

Oh God, oh fuck, oh fuck. His cock swung between his thighs, dripping against Severus' leg. A bastard he might be, with his mood swings and his viper's tongue, but Severus was _brilliant_ at giving Harry what he needed. A weird, incoherent, drunken energy lurched through him each time those fingers connected, waves of pleasure hammering at him, battering through to successive levels of intensity, his core molten and slick and utterly yielding.

Arms buckling again, Harry sagged face-down, drooling a little, his cheek shoved rhythmically into the pillow as his body jolted back and forth. The narrow channel of his arse burned with the friction of Severus's bunched fingers whipping in and out, a juicy _smack_ , _smack_ , the force of it jarring his heart, the impact punching the throbbing nerve centre at the deepest part of his arse until Harry felt a convulsion rise toward his loins – not pain, but the straining, near-hallucinatory backlash of too much pleasure.

He was wide open now, split and smoothed for Severus' use. He could hear himself grunting in time with the lewd slurp of that spearing hand. The bump of knuckles against his prostate intensified the sensation to the point of dizziness, and he wallowed, beyond shame, squirming in Severus' lap.

God, he was addicted to this. He _loved_ being taken, drugged with fucking, loved having his arse pried open, plundered, loved shuddering under Severus' hands or on the end of his cock. His hair was soggy with sweat, his face burning, adding to the sense of delirium.

Then some frayed ribbon of control let go, and the pleasure pounding through him slammed loose the cries backed up in his throat. Unable to swallow them, he sobbed a string of muffled _fuck_ s into the pillow.

A hand slipped under his jaw then and raised his head. Muscles trembling, mouth slack, he stared blearily up at Severus, whose eyes glistened in the firelight, heavy-lidded and consuming and so dilated they were almost scary.

"Am I hurting you?"

His voice was always husky now, a constant reminder of damage that couldn't be undone. But from the way he breathed the words, Harry could tell how aroused he was. There was a shadow of gloating in it, too, just as there was still a small, cruel part of Severus that got off on fucking James Potter's son.

Harry didn't bother trying to talk, simply braced himself on one shaky arm and reared up for a kiss. Severus dipped his head, his tongue snaking forward to fill Harry's mouth the way his left hand filled Harry's arse. The cleverness of that tongue, oh God. It could feel pointy and insinuating when doing wicked things between his legs, but it was fleshy and firm enough to give him something to suck on, even choke on, when the need arose. Harry sealed his lips around it and moaned through his nose, letting it gorge him, his chin wet, his flushed face partly curtained by Severus' hair.

The hand midway inside him resumed pumping slowly, making screwing motions from side to side to distend the inner muscles of his arse. Holding the kiss in this position was awkward, but it meant Harry was getting plugged fore and aft, and he rocked between those two points, the wet tip of his dick swaying up and down to slap the bulge of Severus' testicles.

A fourth finger wormed its way in, and it was almost too much. Harry grimaced, his jaw clenching, heedless of the second tongue in his mouth. Severus snarled into the kiss and bit him back. Which was brilliant; it resulted in a hand twined around his throat and Severus grinding into the kiss with a violence that had been missing before.

Harry guzzled that passion, gagged on it, only vaguely registering more lube being drizzled into his crack. If not for how silky it felt, how sweetly it burned, how certain he was that Severus would never play him for a fool during sex, the crude, embarrassing slurp of suction would have snapped him out of his erotic daze.

Instead, he writhed. The tapered fingers squelched in and out at a mesmerising pace, a thick, succulent rush of friction in his passage, a euphoric blur. Oh, fuck him. He loved those fingers, loved them in his mouth and his arse and around his cock, breathtakingly singleminded, exactly like every other part of Severus, subtlety and cruelty in their very sinews. Each time they smote him, Harry wanted to double over in a slobbering, grovelling cringe of pleasure. He had a habit of tightening his stomach muscles while being fucked, and his midriff was starting to cramp. He didn't care. Sweat dripped and tickled, slick between his thighs, sopping under his arms, so heavy down his face he sputtered slightly as he breathed.

He didn't care. The sexual incandescence of submitting himself as a burnished vessel for Severus to plunge his fingers in was all that mattered. All the nerves in his flexing hole were ablaze, aching in a way that didn't even seem physical anymore. He wondered hazily if he could have a rectal orgasm completely unrelated to his cock. Everything up inside there was overstimulated and sore, ecstatically so, growing looser and more excruciating with every fresh blow.

Abused into a state of bliss, he rode the edge of endurance, sloppy, lost in time, utterly enslaved to Severus' thrusting hand and trembling with the effort not to lose control.

Merlin, it was agony. He wanted to come. But if he did, it would stop, and he didn't want to stop.

They weren't kissing anymore, just panting messily against each other's faces, their swollen lips bruised by repeated bumping and Harry's blind lunges forward whenever a wrench of sensation shocked his body. Wavering, he clutched a fistful of Severus' hair to keep himself anchored, and the limp, just-washed feel of it, the smoky and oily fragrance, called to a part of him that longed to crawl and hide, unnerved by his own wantonness. He buried his face in it, in those once-despised greasy curtains, and in a fit of sensual desperation rubbed his cheek up along Severus' hooked nose.

A low hiss answered him. A moment later, the grip on his throat shifted and slid downward, raking through his chest hair, and caught his leaking cock mid-swing.

Harry tensed and cried out, his arse squeezing around Severus' rapidfire fingers. The need that hardened his loins threw his hips forward, and he bucked frantically into Severus' other hand. The sensory overload was already so extreme it would only take a few rapid strokes from tip to root to make him see stars.

He grabbed Severus' wrist to stop that from happening. "W-wait."

A second passed before the word sank in and another second before Severus believed him and let go.

The cresting pressure in Harry's stones faded to a less frenzied urge, and he exhaled shakily, shocked at himself. Then he bit his lip as the long fingers eased out of him, leaving the walls of his arse trembling and shrinking in on themselves, unsated. Well, fuck.

"What is it?" Severus demanded, wasting no time cleansing both hands with a stringent spell.

Woozy and still bereft of words, Harry watched him wipe his spit-smeared lips as if disgusted by the act of snogging. But his face gave him away: with his skin's tendency to flush in uneven patches, his mouth's natural inclination to sneer, and the fact that the baleful quality of his eyes got smudgy and drugged under the influence of sex, Severus could hardly have looked more debauched. Once roused to a passion, it wasn't easy for him to step off that emotional high – as anyone who'd experienced his temper had reason to know.

It was a secret, jealous delight of Harry's, how slow Severus was to emerge from a sexual stupor and how quickly Harry could put him there.

Chest still heaving with aftershocks, he raised a finger to stall for time and dragged the hem of his undershirt up to mop his soaked hairline, giving Severus an eyeful of everything underneath.

Doing a passable imitation of Nagini, Severus coiled up and folded both legs under, poised and vaguely menacing. Or he would have been if the dressing gown weren't hanging off the points of his shoulders and his cock weren't listing sideways inside the slack of his pyjama bottoms, seeking a way out.

"If you want me to fuck you," he said sharply, "just say so."

Jesus. Harry's head was still swimming from the rush of his thwarted orgasm. Any other time, he would have pitched forward on the pillows and spread his arse, but –

"Don't tempt me," he panted. "Just lie down, all right? It's your turn. I mean my turn. Your arse's turn. Oh, sod it. Don't sit there smirking at me, you git." Sex gave him a terrible case of smoker's throat; he sounded almost as raspy as Severus.

Being a consummate arsehole, Severus didn't stop silently mocking Harry's tongue-tied attempts to explain himself, but he did shake his wand out of his sleeve and flick it. There was a small crash, and Harry glanced behind him as another log settled on the dying fire. When he turned back, Severus was draining the contents of his cup and using magic to rearrange the pillows. Satisfied, he put wand and goblet aside, then leaned forward to wrap a hand around Harry's neck and snog him breathless. Harry kissed back thirstily, breaking the seal between their lips and sending wine down their chins before either one could finish swallowing the warm mouthful.

The smell of sweat and soap, the heavy taste of hot burgundy, the trickle of it down his wrist when he tried to stem the overflow, the movement of Severus' narrow shoulders under his palms – Merlin, he wanted to flip that wiry body over and have him right now.

He shifted his weight off his sore bum and pushed gently. Severus didn't exactly kiss with finesse, although if he was far gone enough, Harry could slow him down and Severus would follow his lead. But his deepest impulse was to ravish and consume. Times like tonight, when Harry craved that desperation, he'd submit completely to mutual devouring. He groped for the hand clutching his hair and nearly steered it back inside his arse; nearly pawed Severus' pyjamas down and sat on his cock.

He pulled back with a gasp. Following blindly, Severus started to lose his balance and had to slap a hand down to catch himself. He stayed crouched in front of Harry, breathing harshly, a sheen of sweat on the bridge of his nose and shining across his throat, his hair a black cavern around his face. The pinpoint glitter of flames reflected in his pupils, and fucking hell. Harry was aware that human eyes didn't actually smoulder, but if the person they belonged to was a Legilimens, and if there was a fire nearby to blame it on…

Then Severus dragged himself back into cobra position and faced away, the dressing gown folded tightly across his chest.

Oh no, none of that. Harry leaned forward and yanked the collar open, then worked the dressing gown down to reveal the bony line of bare shoulders. Severus' skin was flushed and damp, almost feverish, especially at the nape of his neck. Harry bit him there. He kept biting as Severus fought the sleeves and finally wrenched them inside-out to free his arms. Harry had to pin his wrists quickly to stop him from pushing his pyjama bottoms down.

"Leave those," he muttered, rubbing his sweaty, rucked-up vest and hairy stomach against Severus' naked back. His erection slid up and down the smooth skin, smearing trails of spunk. He reached around and crossed his arms, his fingers seeking out the nipples he'd sucked earlier, twisting them so hard that Severus bucked back against him with a stifled curse, squirming rather than struggling, his head falling onto Harry's shoulder.

Feeling triumphant, Harry thumbed the inflamed nubs in gentle circles, gratified by the shudder that followed his lighter touch. He knew better than to admit how turned on he got from seeing Severus vulnerable, so simply went on toying with the sore-looking nipples, stroking them taut, sunburn-bright through the sparse black chest hair. The acquiescence of Severus' lowered eyelids, the faint quiver of his black lashes against hectic skin, the unspoken protest each time his mouth started to relax, only to open again in a silent, pleading _ah_ , sent a bolt of heat into Harry's lower regions. He rode it out, rising and sinking in steady rhythm and leaking heavily against Severus' back.

Severus's mouth did close then, repressing a smirk. "I thought you wanted me on my stomach," he murmured without opening his eyes.

"Don't push," Harry told him. "My turn, remember? I'll let you know when."

Risking tenderness, he laid his lips against the damp black hair at Severus' temple, then spread his thighs to shimmy as far forward as possible, his cock nestled into the thinly muscled trough along Severus' spine. Experimenting with the line between pleasure and pain, he stretched one nipple to its limits, plucking it repeatedly, while his other hand travelled down to the engorged fork of Severus' groin.

He let go of the nipple and pressed a careful dent into it with the edge of one fingernail. Severus hissed; Harry splayed his other hand between his legs and scooped up everything his fingers could reach, stiff or soft, gradually increasing the squeeze while at the same time grinding his own cock between his belly and Severus' back. The gaunt face tightened, and a meandering drop of sweat glinted across his sallow cheekbone, vanishing briefly into shadow, catching the light again on his jaw, where Harry licked it out of existence. He loosened his hold, then clenched and released in several quick pulses. Severus cried out, practically lurching back in Harry's embrace as he was shoved across the line Harry had been searching for, the one dividing Severus' self-control from loss of inhibition.

"Fucking Christ, I love when you do that," Harry slurred, sucking at the skin around the ragged scar tissue.

Hoping he'd got the timing right, he eased the lean body forward. "Okay, yeah, _now_ you can lie down."

For a moment, equally slack and taut from rough handling, Severus lay so heavily against him Harry could feel the pulse shaking his body. Then he pulled himself together, shedding his sensual reverie rather faster than Harry had hoped, and crawled forward on hands and knees. He sank onto the pillows in careful stages, just enough that Harry could tell he was still feeling some physical discomfort. The fire threw brilliant splashes of light over the blankets, over his naked upper body, surging back and forth in flickering waves, bathing his skin in a dusky, dull-orange glow. It softened the skeletal shadows underpainting each curve of rib, the faded shine of scars, the lack of prominent muscle.

Not that it mattered; Harry didn't need them softened.

He waited while Severus got comfortable, arms crossed under his head, before leaning forward to sweep the long tangle of hair aside. Severus gave him the slit-eyed, brooding stare of a creature playing at being harmless, a hint of suspicion compressing his brow. That hadn't changed and probably never would: the loner in Severus, the part that skulked and watched and was always ready to lash out. Harry doubted he actually knew he was doing it. Even when he was reduced to strangled panting, in the throes of a wracking orgasm, it still took an extra twist of intensity to break that vigilance down.

Harry, in his turn, enjoyed the glimpses of unspoken sarcasm flashing darkly over Severus' shoulder – liked best of all the moment the sharp eyes clouded and half-closed with degraded pleasure.

But they weren't there yet, not by half, and Severus was a competitive git. "Get on with it," he rasped. "Or is it your cunning plan to fidget around until the fire puts me to sleep?"

Harry threw him a rude gesture, then dropped his hips against the soft valley where the fabric of Severus' pyjamas gathered between the slopes of his arse. Braced on his hands, he rutted there for a few seconds, the lazy weight of his cock dragging back and forth, before nudging Severus' legs a few inches apart. It gave him room to settle back and slowly, lingeringly, stretch the waistband of the pyjama bottoms down and tuck the green cotton in below Severus' bare buttocks.

Oh yeah. This needed a moment.

Harry savoured it, the tight ache of possessiveness in his chest, the way lust shot into his cock like a deadbolt slamming home, hard, final, the friction of excitement making it difficult to keep from rushing the proceedings. He knew it was daft to be so infatuated with a body part, but – well. This was something no one else knew about Severus. Of course, Ron and Hermione would likely prefer to Stupefy themselves rather than risk hearing that Severus Snape's uncovered arse was Harry's wet dream, or that Harry could sometimes be found salivating in front of it. But God, he'd been looking forward to this all evening: the cool pale skin with the firelight dancing over it, both cheeks high and snug and nestled together, rounded though not plump, a dusky line of shadow dividing them, the strong muscles yielding under the pressure of Harry's ploughing thumbs.

First, though, he bent forward to smooth his hands all the way down the scarred back, from shoulders to sacrum, rubbing until Severus' frown relaxed a few degrees and an eyebrow bent in his direction.

Satisfied, Harry sat up. With a self-indulgent sigh, he laid his hands upon the exposed arse and dug his nails in, warming the naked curves caught in the pulled-down dark-green bottoms. Slowly, with dreamy petting motions, he massaged the pale mounds, rolling them open so he could whisper a cleaning spell into the exposed hole. He was gentler than Severus had been, although even if he'd used Scourgify he doubted Severus would have reacted; his relationship to pain was somewhat different.

Pressing the reddened cheeks back together, Harry bent close and slathered his tongue over the joined crescents, lapping into the seam and licking as wetly as he could. He was rewarded with a shiver racing up Severus' spine. Satisfied, he wiggled backward into the space between his spread legs, shifting around to find the best position, and shoved his face down inside the pyjama pants, extending his tongue tip over and over to caress the loose folds of Severus' scrotum before nuzzling his way back up to his anus.

"Fuck," Severus muttered, his breathing raspy and his tone just shy of begging.

Harry pillowed his head for a moment on that smooth bottom, staring hypnotised into the fire, then started on his flanks. He rubbed and kissed, streaking spit on Severus' skin as he mouthed over every inch, occasionally baring his teeth and using them. His tangled fringe fell in his eyes, and he didn't bother brushing it away. His hands clamped and wrenched, forcing Severus' arse and legs further apart, stretching the backs of his pyjamas. The only sounds in the room came from the peaceful crackle of the fire, the long, spluttery slurps of Harry's sucking, and the hoarse whispers of air as Severus tried not to let on how hard he was panting.

A quick pause to wipe sweat from his eyes, then Harry shifted his hands upward, one on each cheek, twisting hard enough to leave bruises. The warm swells tempted him to cross the line from worship to punishment. Fine-skinned and tight, their shapeliness – not to mention the way Severus lay just on, but not quite over, the edge of surrender – catered to a painful craving inside him. A craving that had lain dormant until the night Severus consented, with a grudging, half-drugged sensuality, to let Harry spread him open and eat him out.

Upstairs, a clock chimed the hour. Harry loosened his grip and ran his nails over Severus' mottled skin. Then he stretched up and blew a stream of cool air. Tiny, prickly goosebumps rose inches from his lips. The pale cheeks quivered, pulling up, and Harry reached down to squeeze some patience into his cock before sliding his hand back around Severus' arse. Gently, he kissed the finger-marked, goosefleshed ovals. A palm on each, he separated one from the other, peeling them carefully apart like halves of a fruit until Severus' dark, hairy crease was revealed.

A pulse slugged suddenly through his groin, startling and balls-deep. Harry leaned his weight on it, triggering a few more hard, hot thumps of blood. The fierceness of the sensation surprised a harsh noise from his throat.

Severus turned in the guttering light and glowered at him. His face was lust-flushed, his hair parting around the pale spar of his upraised shoulder. They shared a moment of mutual sex-drunkenness before Harry said softly, "Lie down."

Severus sank an inch or two back onto the blanket, resisting. The heaviness of his half-closed eyes betrayed how far under he was, his black stare fogged by fumes of hunger that had seethed below the surface for twenty years.

"Lie the fuck down," Harry said again. It was one of the peculiarities of his sexual make-up that conflict got a rise out of him, sparked something on a level that relaxed, affectionate lovemaking couldn't touch.

Severus, naturally, made Harry's little friction kink seem like child's play. Out of bed, the unpredictable push-pull could be irritating as all bloody hell, but they both understood how it fed the sexual charge between them.

In control for the moment, Harry held him splayed, an elbow hooked over the back of each thigh, subduing the clenching reflex of his arse muscles. Then he reinforced his order by leaning forward and letting the tip of his tongue just touch.

The prone body jerked under him, and Severus' face fell back to the pillow.

Settled on his stomach before the fire, Harry burrowed in greedily, lapping and dabbing. He licked and licked until the inner curves of Severus' arse glistened with saliva. With rough fingers, he pried the narrow cheeks apart. The heat from the wet crevice smote him, a sweaty, musky fragrance, and a tongue-swipe up the tender line of stretched pink skin earned him a stifled gasp.

He'd figured out long ago that if he wanted to triumph over that spiteful fucker Professor Snape, there was no sweeter revenge than making Severus come unhinged with pleasure as often as was humanly possible.

Severus, of course, was the tightest of arses, and Harry proceeded to give that tight arse a tongue-lashing. He slid his wet mouth into the crease, relishing the flex of muscles in his grip, the salty taste of fevered skin, the suffocating press of flesh on both sides of his burning face. His whole world narrowed to this one spot, his nose mashed against Severus' tailbone while his tongue flicked at its target, circling, tickling, building up the ecstatic torment.

Severus twisted and strained under Harry's hands, his arms stretched out in front of him, too mindless with the roar of his own need to stop himself. Shudders wracked his body. He loved being licked, but it connected like an electric shock to something desperate and heavily guarded inside him. Once or twice, gasping curses into the pillow, his dark voice broke like a boy's, and Harry knew he would pay for that later.

It had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life, that first time Severus had trusted him enough to offer up his body for anything Harry wanted to do to it. The memory of him moaning incoherently, unable to stop arching and trying to crawl away as he came apart under Harry's prodding tongue, would be worth wanking to even twenty years on.

Of course, the second time Harry had rimmed him, he'd had to hold Severus down to stop him from thrashing, and still earned a bitten tongue for his trouble. The third time – well, thinking back, Harry sometimes wanted to hex himself for not realising sooner that the muffled choking sounds and tense shuddering had been Severus breaking down into the pillow. He'd come, but with a cry cut off halfway, and a bloody bottom lip that made it clear afterward how he'd silenced himself. For days afterward, he'd been in such a hair-trigger mood, so intensely, bitterly sarcastic about sex, that by the end of the week Harry had been ready to flip him off and Disapparate entirely out of his life.

He knew better now. He knew what Severus wanted and what he would never ask for.

And he knew what _he_ wanted, but he wasn't sure Severus would let him have it. "Come on," he said firmly. "Up on your knees. And stay there until I'm finished with you."

He made sure Severus was comfortably arranged, though still hobbled by the pyjama bottoms because that was how Harry wanted him. Then he summoned lube from the pocket of the discarded dressing gown, squirted it over his palm, reached between Severus' legs, and applied a nice slippery grip to the situation. He started with an easy, loose-wristed polish, slicking the rippling skin, gratified by how thick and urgent Severus' need for him was. This was another secret never shared with the world: Severus was hung like a young hippogriff. Skinny bastard, big dick. The double entendre would have made it a hit with the boys' dorm. Not, Harry reflected as he nudged his way back between Severus' arse cheeks, that his friends would appreciate hearing the gory details.

He started picking up the pace, speeding his hand along. His own cock twitched forlornly, so Harry gave it his other hand, matching his tongue's pace to his two-fisted wanking. He licked and lip-smacked Severus' hole over and over, then placed the tip of his tongue dead centre and tried to force it in. The much-abused pucker flinched at each soft, relentless stab but didn't yield.

Impatient, Harry pulled back and stuck a hasty finger in his mouth. He left his cock to fend for itself, an aching curve poking at the flannel of Severus' falling-down bottoms.

Going slow, he insinuated his fingertip between the pale, upraised cheeks. When Severus didn't immediately whip around and snarl, "What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he pressed in, rotating the finger from side to side until he'd breached a part of Severus he wasn't usually invited to enter.

"Potter – " The dark eyes rolled a little under their lids, and Merlin's _balls_ , the sounds he made. "I can't – bloody hell, Potter, please – "

"Call me Harry when I've got my finger up your arse," Harry whispered, only half-joking, then twisted the tip just far enough in to locate Severus' prostate. He barely touched it, brushed over it, circled it in passing, careful not to overdo the contact. He was rewarded with tiny involuntary tremors as Severus' body vibrated to those glancing touches. Hooking one knee over the pyjamas to push them down, Harry licked the quivering rim of flesh enclosing his fingertip, and with his tongue soothed the distended skin. His other hand fondled the flared hood of Severus' cock and jerked him off faster.

Severus moaned between clenched teeth and nearly tore a hole in the pillow.

Sitting up finally to take the strain off his knees, Harry caught a glimpse of how they might look to an outsider: the Death Eater spy Severus Snape, thin-framed as a thestral, stark naked and facedown in a sea of blankets, his cheek cradled on the forearm that once bore a Dark Mark, the glow of embers reddening the silver strands in his hair. The skin around his eyes was tense, as if it actually hurt him to receive pleasure, his pyjama bottoms hanging lopsided down his legs and his arse raised for Harry to worship.

And Harry, kneeling behind him, naked except for the sweat-stained vest shoved up under his armpits, his forefinger half-buried in a place one might have said fingers weren't meant to go.

No one would approve, and he didn't want anyone else touching Severus anyway. Harry had fought long and hard for this intimacy. All that mattered was the look on Severus' face. And oh God, how perfect his arse was, presented to Harry like this.

Harry was only human, and he'd been very patient. He drove his finger all the way in.

Severus' breath caught, and he struggled up onto his hands, his long hair tangled around his face. His eyes blazed back at Harry, who faltered and popped his finger right back out.

"Don't stop, you bloody tit," Severus snapped, but the thrill in his face, the rising colour, took away the insult and replaced it with breathless excitement. "Why the sodding hell must you always second-guess yourself? Just do it, Potter."

"You're sure?" Harry said stupidly, but lost no time slathering on the lube. "You know what it is I want to do, right?"

Lungs still heaving with exertion, Severus opened his eyes wider, his dilated glare roaming over Harry's damp body, the hair that covered his chest in sweaty curls, his oiled-up cock.

"I'm not breakable," he bit out in a low voice, which was a fucking lie. They didn't do this often, precisely because someone had once broken Severus, and he could be a right bloody bastard about it if Harry weren't careful. But then he added, in that sore-throat, sultry tone, "Just fuck me. And get your hand back on my cock." There was a pause. "And _kiss_ me, you unromantic little shit."

That surprised a laugh out of Harry. A curious look, barely discernible in the shadows, flitted across the accusing contours of Severus' face. By now, the fire had completely died down, and they were preparing to fuck in the faint, brimstone glow from the red-hot coals. The look was there and gone in the turn of his head and a veil of hair, but unless Harry was projecting, he recognised what had evaded Severus' self-control, and his heart started beating ridiculously fast. A blush prickled up his neck to his ears.

Shakily, he caressed Severus' arse and then felt his way up the slightly rutted road of backbone and muscle to give his trembling hands time to recover, following their upward slide until, bent forward, he could deliver the expected kiss. A challenging glint flashed up at him as he roped aside the smoky tangles smelling strongly of wine (oh cripes, when had they managed to spill wine in Severus' hair?). Then he angled Severus' head with a hand to his jaw and suddenly their mouths were full of each other, a hungry mingling of wet tongues and messy emotions.

Harry gradually let his stomach come to rest on the small of Severus' back. It was an intense turn-on, surrounding him like this. His erection slotted snugly between those warm, sticky arse cheeks, smearing lube everywhere. Beneath him, Severus shifted, kissing with his usual lack of moderation, and twined Harry's pushed-up vest in one fist. He had to tug a few times before Harry, getting the message, fumbled for his cock, thought about preparing Severus a bit more, thought about what Severus would likely say if he tried, and pressed in.

Slippery-fingered, he got the knob through and then just hung on, mildly stunned by the gripping pulse beating through his shaft. A tight circumference, that was all. But God, it was glorious. And of course Severus's arse just _had_ to resist, and now Harry was going to bollocks everything up. He'd be in and done in five seconds flat, and Severus would never let him near his arse again.

But oh God, it felt really, really good.

Except Severus had stopped kissing him. Without making a sound, his body had pulled inward like a drawstring purse, closing up around that sensitive entrance. Harry groaned softly when Severus moved, oh so slowly shoving his arse back another inch onto the cock skewering him. Then he stopped and pressed his hot forehead against Harry's neck.

Harry swallowed, dying a little inside with the need to thrust. Severus muttered, "Don't move."

"You all right?"

"Yes. Shut up."

Harry huddled around him, trying not to let on there was a lump in his throat. They were still at the stage where either of them bristled at anyone blurting the word 'love,' but Harry could feel it fluttering in his throat. It was nerve-wracking enough sometimes, living with a Legilimens.

"Just so you know, you feel amazing," he whispered.

"Potter – "

"You _sure_ you're all right?"

Severus grunted something Harry didn't understand, but it didn't sound as if it wanted to kill him. It might even have been a laugh, there in the deepening dark, with only the coal-bed radiance in the grate hinting at the shape of the room around them and the house that contained it, the two of them within it pressed together, connected by much more than just a cock in an arse.

The wind continued whistling somewhere in the distance, but it had receded, moving away, as cold and beautiful as the voice of old magic. A late-night timelessness brimming with the echoing presence of winter seemed to separate them from the rest of the world.

Harry couldn't imagine ever letting go.

The vest strangling his underarms loosened a bit as Severus stopped wringing it for moral support. His hand travelled up past Harry's face and groped his hair, petting it gently, pulling at it not so gently.

"You're an idiot," he said at last, his voice threading an odd line between disapproval and regret. "But you still have to fuck me. Right _now_ , Potter."

"You don't have to insult me into it," Harry said, puzzled, wishing he could see Severus' face. "I'll do it at no cost to you whatsoever."

Since it was right there in front of him, he kissed Severus' arm instead, the forearm that had once been horribly marked, then turned his head and kissed the next thing he encountered, a downcast eyelid, smiling when it flickered offendedly under his lips.

Severus didn't say anything. After a moment, though, he made another noise, one that implied he might be willing to kill Harry after all if he didn't get on with it.

Snickering, Harry kissed him on his scornful, unpredictable mouth, meanwhile leaning some extra weight on Severus' hole. Miraculously, the grudging muscles relaxed at last, and Harry slid in and was sheathed before he quite realised it. He'd meant to go slow. Severus exhaled through his nose, and his arse contracted a few times, so Harry scattered apologetic kisses on his shoulders before rising onto his knees to gaze upon the sight of his glistening cock emerging slowly from Severus' body. He tilted his hips forward and pushed it back in, half-closing his eyes as it went down deep into that lovely arse, entirely swallowed up, and Severus dropped his head between his arms and flexed his back, his flanks twitching, moaning as Harry carefully pulled out and –

And then Severus flopped belly-down on the blankets, leaving Harry with his cock swinging in midair and a spark of alarm shooting through him.

"Severus?"

Infuriating git. Severus stretched, arms, back, legs elongating luxuriously and then going limp. He wormed a pillow under his cheek and craned around, rutting lazily, to give Harry the slyest, darkest, most unrepentant smirk he'd ever received, while his arse rolled in obscene rhythm before Harry's eyes.

The darkness in the room was absolute now except for the vaguely hellfire shadows cast by the grate, just enough to render everything in spooky red tints. It was the ideal backdrop to Severus' low, compelling voice, calling Harry to him as if promising to wrap that velvety tongue around his genitals.

"I'm tired, Potter, and my cock is getting cold. I could use some help here." One twilight eye glittered over his shoulder. His hooked nose reflected the embers' infernal colour like a devil mask, outlined by its own shadow upon the pillowcase. He looked diabolical and hungry, and Harry was utterly hypnotised by the slow undulation of his arse.

"I'll do whatever you want," he said.

"Such a good little Gryffindor," Severus murmured.

Harry snorted. "Such a bastard Slytherin." He dragged the sweaty vest off over his head and tossed it aside, then tugged the pyjama bottoms down past Severus' feet, wadded them up, and sent them flying after the vest. He shuffled forward on his knees, stroking himself stiff again with one hand. "Cold, eh? Need warming up again, do you?" He hovered uncertainly. "Do you want me to – "

"I want you to _fuck me through the mattress_ , Potter. Or, since the mattresses are all upstairs, the carpet." Severus stopped hugging the pillow, reached down with his clever hands, and dug his nails into the flesh of his arse, spreading the cheeks apart. "I can't make it any clearer than that."

"Oh God. You are so – " Harry straddled him and ran his fingers over the dark peach fuzz splitting his buttocks. He circled the stretched hole. "Let me – "

"Harry, yes," Severus said in a deep-chested whisper. "For fuck's sake, do whatever you want." A second later, he added in a voice closer to his old professorial disdain, "You know where my prostate is. I expect you to make good use of that knowledge."

"Knowledge," Harry said distractedly, "Got it," then poised himself directly above the ruddy opening to Severus' body and without wasting any more time sank in, sank deep, all the way down, spearing him with everything he had, pulling back and taking him again quickly, and then again. He followed up with a wild volley of thrusts, all the strength in his hips pounding down into that slick hole, riding Severus with slapping force, like a hard spanking, flesh against flesh, _slap slap slap slap_.

Severus kicked and cried out. His arse cheeks shook, and in the dim light, Harry noticed his skin turning pink with impact. Wanting a better look at that, he threw a spell at the fireplace. Sparks exploded outward as a small log dropped out of nowhere and crushed the embers. Satisfied, Harry plunged down. Severus writhed and spread out, as if searching for some way to open himself wider, to accommodate Harry further, accidentally elbowing pillows aside and sliding onto the floor with a soft thump. He didn't seem to care, merely braced himself in the blankets and humped vehemently in rhythm with Harry's downward strokes.

It was everything Harry wanted. It was the sort of sex he'd thought he could never have, and it made him so giddy he almost laughed out loud.

It was also utterly ridiculous. Their lower bodies jounced and smacked, Harry's cock shining wetly as it pumped between the two pale mounds. His legs were starting to ache, and the tension in his cock was becoming unbearable. If he came right now, he would probably break something. He was also incredibly thirsty. Panting, he squatted over Severus as if playing leapfrog, shaft pointing straight down, and proceeded to hammer into him, rapidly, brutally, the short rough strokes designed to clip his prostate on every thrust.

Under the assault, Severus lay almost inert, legs splayed and arms outflung, letting Harry use him, his loose-limbed body shaking slightly with every blow. He grunted a guttural, winded _uh_ at each impalement. The passivity was totally unlike him, and it was incredibly hot. Within minutes, though, he tensed and arched off the floor, hips raised far enough that he could grasp his own cock.

Harry murmured, "Yeah," and wove his fingers through the shaggy mess of black hair, yanking a bit as he secured a handhold, the texture nastier than usual after random spicings-up of smoke, sweat, wine, and lube (which had indeed got everywhere). Increasing the pull, he assessed Severus' face in the dancing gold light. It earned him an inscrutable glare, like that of a Kneazle who enjoys being brushed but was prepared, if Harry hit a tangle, to flip over and bite his face off. Hair-pulling was a kink he could use to get Severus off, but a volatile one. Actually, if he had any non-volatile kinks, Harry hadn't found them yet.

Leaning forward, he covered Severus' nearest ear with his mouth, breathing into it, tickling it with his tongue. Then he wiped his damp face and grasped the flesh of Severus' upper arm as he repositioned himself. He took a deep breath, and his hips sped up. It had been a long day, and his endurance was starting to flag, but he was so grateful, not just in this moment but here in the centre of his life, so overwhelmed with feelings for the man he was fucking that he would have been happy to service him all night.

Except that he really needed to come. It was either that or pass out.

First things first. He took charge of Severus' cock, stroking him from two directions, wanking him briskly in front, ramming him roughly in back. Severus' panting deepened, and he curled back, rubbing against Harry. Harry tugged harder on his hair, whispering a ragged stream of words consisting mostly of "fuck" and "Severus." His fist flew on the slick, rigid shaft curving up in his hand.

Suddenly Severus gasped and braced himself, his body arching in a single sensual muscle spasm, jerking in Harry's arms. Harry fucked him through it, Severus' cock pulsing and spitting in his hand. His stomach jumped against Harry's knuckles. He was gritting his teeth, and his upper lip was drawn back, exactly like his classroom sneer. Oh God, Professor Snape. Professor Snape making sex faces during potions. Harry slammed into him, quickening the pace, on his knees and going at it like a madman so that by the time Severus sagged onto the floor with a shuddering hiss, Harry had reached such a pitch he was being shaken to pieces by his own orgasm. Lights quivered behind his tight-shut eyes. For a moment, he thought he might actually levitate, but then he felt the blankets under his hands and knees and the sweet, unstoppable glide of his throbbing cock in Severus' arse. Anchored by that reality, he was able to control his slow collapse on top of Severus, and thus prevent himself getting hexed.

They panted like dogs for a moment, side by side, Harry comforted by the feel of Severus' ribcage expanding against his at regular intervals. The fire whispered and popped in the grate, and Harry watched through his lashes as the shimmering gold light climbed all over Severus' face. There were a lot of angles to climb, and a lot of shadows that refused to give way, especially around the eyes. It was rather beautiful, something he would never, of course, admit on pain of death.

As his post-orgasmic stupor faded, he pulled carefully out of Severus, eliciting no reaction whatsoever, and turned onto his back. He stared up at the shadowy ceiling for a while, then groped for his wand and made a few half-hearted gestures toward cleaning them both up. His arm fell back to the floor, and he exhaled. "Points to Slytherin."

Severus stirred and likewise rolled onto his back. "For?"

"A thorough sozzling," Harry said. Severus' eyelids flickered but didn't open, and the lines gathering on his face relaxed before they managed a full-blown smirk. Harry nudged him. "You planning to sleep here? Because, as I seem to recall you mentioning, all the mattresses are upstairs." Severus' eyes opened slowly, so Harry decided to press his luck. "I suppose we could always _Accio_ one. Find out how many things a king-sized mattress can knock over on its way down the stairs."

Without even glancing at him, the heavy, lethargic eyes cast around, seemingly at random, and then Severus lunged, plucking the wand from his hand.

"Hey!"

A few flicks brought the pillows scurrying, a few murmurs persuaded them to squish together and merge and swell, and by the time Severus tossed the wand at Harry and fell back, they had a nice, firm mattress to stretch out on.

"There's a remarkable new branch of magic just recently invented by modern wizards," he murmured, closing his eyes again. "I hear they're thinking of calling it Transfiguration. They teach it at Hogwarts, or so I've been told. You might want to look into it."

"Yeah, yeah, hilarious. You can sod right off," Harry said, scooting over and throwing an arm across Severus' ribs. Without all that athletic activity, the room was noticeably cooler, and sharing body heat was an excellent excuse for budging up.

To his dismay, Severus levered himself onto one elbow and gazed down, and Harry worried he'd given genuine offence. But then, to his astonishment, an actual smile split Severus' face. It wasn't a nice smile, and in fact it made him look like a child molester, with his scuzzy hair and uneven teeth and glittering sunken eyes. But at least it was real.

"I just had the beloved hero of the entire British wizarding world eating my arse," he said in a soft, hoarse voice that would probably, no matter how fucked-out he was, give Harry erotic dreams that night. "I doubt I could find that anywhere else. I have _no_ intention of sodding off."

"Well, it is a pretty nice arse," Harry said, annoyed to feel himself blushing. Even more embarrassing, Severus reached over and outlined his lips with a slow, lascivious finger.

Then he lay back in a position that allowed Harry to wiggle closer and pillow his head on Severus' arm. "Not too shabby, as endings go," he said daringly, his mouth dry. "War heroes in love, yeah?" He lay there, barely breathing, waiting for Severus to sit bolt upright and rain down thunder and insult upon him.

Severus slanted another look in his direction, and maybe it was because they were both lying down and the angle was weird, but Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what was behind it. However, traces of the smile still lingered in the slightly quirked corners of his mouth, so he took a chance and smiled cheekily back.

Severus turned away and stared up at the ceiling. He swallowed; Harry saw the line of his throat move under the scar tissue. "I've always said you were an idiot," he remarked to the air. Another beat of silence. "Now for the love of God, Potter, shut _up_ , or I'll Accio your tongue from your head."

He closed his eyes, and Harry exhaled in soaring disbelief. Right. It felt exactly as if he'd got away with something. Something rather tremendous.

He lay awake for a while after, feeling Severus settle gradually into sleep. The only sounds in the room were the intermittent sputter of the flames when snowflakes drifted down the chimney flue, and the quiet resonance of Severus' heartbeat under his ear.

So here was another thing Harry knew that he would bet the world didn't. Severus Snape could be happy. Snape the Death Eater, the murderer, the bullying teacher, the near-sacrifice, the childhood friend in eternal mourning, could be happy. Not often, and not for very long, but Harry had seen it. He'd witnessed it. He was even, possibly, on nights like this one, the cause of it. This was one secret he wouldn't mind sharing with the world someday.

As he finally sank toward unconsciousness, shifting his head from Severus' arm to a pillow – about the time the fire burned down again, embers glowing like salamander eggs – the thought crossed his mind that this was an achievement ranking up there with some of the Boy Who Lived's more celebrated feats. Not the biggest or the most important, no. But a kind of magic very few other people knew how to do.

He had made Severus Snape happy, and no one had died. No one had paid a price.

Turning sideways, Harry rested his face in the long, snarled hair, inhaling the last traces of the evening's debauchery as he floated into sleep.

Not too shabby, indeed.

END


End file.
